Find Your Way Back
by SillySlytherin
Summary: Draco Malfoy, employed at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Creatures, is assigned to a case that could end the rules and restrictions he's been required to follow in the fifteen years after the war. All he has to do is deal with one potential ghost. When Hermione Granger gets involved in the case as well, they both discover several other ghosts from their past.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys this is a new story I thought about writing. Tell me if you like it. If you are a reader of __**Behind The Facade **__I am almost done writing the next chapter, should be up by Wednesday or Thursday..._

* * *

Hermione finished the puzzle and the jumble in the _Daily Prophet_ and turned the page over. She smeared apricot marmalade on her toast with the back of a spoon as she skimmed the articles without reading any of them in depth. She licked the excess marmalade off the spoon, then dunked it into her cup to stir sugar and cream into her orange pekoe tea. It wasn't much of a breakfast, she knew, and in the back of her mind she could hear Molly Weasley shouting and demanding that she eat more to keep her strength up. Alone in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, she stuck out her tongue in childish refusal before jamming the corner of one toast slice into her mouth.

She focused on the paper, ignoring the gossip columns and sale adverts, skipping over the gardening and herbology sections, and passing straight by the wedding announcements and Quidditch scores. The last page of the paper had an article that caught her eye, even though it was below the fold and squashed between a notice about auditions for a Wizarding Wireless Network radio play on sea life, with special auditions for witches and wizards who could speak Mermish, and a blurry photo of a young, grinning wizard holding a litter of squirming Crup puppies. Hermione dusted the toast crumbs from her fingers and leaned back in her chair, pressing her knees against the edge of the table and kicking her feet beneath it. She sipped her cooling tea and scanned the aerial photo of a village, then read the article closely.

It was written in a tone of slight amusement and was light on details, as if the writer had been too busy giggling to take any serious notes. Titled 'Muggles Mystified', it described a small village in the Cotswolds, Faith-In-Hart, where a ghostly figure had been appearing for several months, bewildering the residents. It was only too clear to her that the article had been written by one of those wizards who thought that Muggles were a little on the dim and immature side for not recognizing magic when they saw it, as the writer described in a far too jocular manner how the Muggles of Faith-In-Hart were attempting to explain the phenomenon as the result of unusual weather patterns or cloud formations drifting low over the village. Only a few of the village's four hundred residents were taking the appearance as a true ghost, and those few were being soundly ignored by the remainder of the villagers, including the council. The author ended the article with a quip about Muggles and their foolish ways.

Hermione made a face as she tossed the paper on the table. She chewed on her toast, rubbing a bit of marmalade against the roof of her mouth with her tongue as she considered, just for a moment, writing a letter of complaint to the Prophet about the journalist's lack of respect for his subject. She decided against it, knowing that it would do very little good in the long run. Despite the greater interaction between the wizarding world and the Muggle world since the end of the war, many wizards and witches, especially those who were raised fully in a magical society, treated Muggles, and Muggle-borns by extension, as little more than people to be pitied.

She'd tried, over the years, tried and tried again, but every time she heard another wizard, plump and smug in his outlandish robes, make another comment about those 'poor Muggles' that made it clear he thought every Muggle was just a step or two higher than a house-elf, it twisted something deep inside her. Six months previously, at the end of September, she'd reached a breaking point, shouting and hexing, her hair as wild as it had ever been in her teen years and her eyes bright as lightning. At least, that was how one of the witnesses had described it in the report given to the Ministry psychologist. She'd gone on sabbatical the day after, a sabbatical that had been 'strongly, most strongly encouraged' by her supervisor in the Department of Magical Creatures.

Her enforced downtime was due to end that week, and she could report back to work on Monday. Hermione drew the paper close to her again and picked up her swan-feather quill to circle the article about Faith-In-Hart. She could investigate this ghostly figure, determine whether it was a true ghost or simply a quirk in the weather. It would ease her back into the bustle of the Ministry, give her something to do, and allow her to do something good for a handful of Muggles. She smiled to herself and tapped her wand on the edge of her tea cup to warm it up again.

"I never like that smile," a voice said from the other end of the room. Hermione looked up to see Harry shuffling into the kitchen, his black hair even messier than usual with sleep and his loose, ragged Quidditch jersey as wrinkled as his nose when he yawned. "That's your planning smile. Am I going to come home from work tonight and find a hundred books scattered around the house? I couldn't find my Cannons tickets for days."

"I'm not planning," she said, shaking her head. "Well, not very much. I found a case I can take on when I go back to the Ministry on Monday. Something to do, get my brain back into shape." She gestured with her cup, careful not to slosh tea over the rim and onto her toast. "You know, something that won't have people checking in on me every fifteen minutes to see if I'm going to explode again."

Harry plopped into his seat on the long side of the table and lifted his wand to start a kettle of water boiling. He cracked open a bottle of orange juice and took a long drink, swirling it around in his mouth as he looked at her. "Are you?" he asked after he took another drink. "Going to explode again? That wasn't like you, Hermione. You're usually the one who's laying out a calm, rational set of facts to convince everyone of your side of an argument. Hexes and all that, it isn't your style."

Hermione dropped her eyes and stared at the twining blue pattern of ivy on her plate. "I had other things on my mind. It was the last straw."

Harry was quiet for a minute, then he cleared his throat. "Did it have anything to do with-"

"Don't." Hermione lifted her head and stared at the wall near the fireplace, her arms crossed tight over her chest and her hands twisted in the sides of her cardigan. "Don't, Harry. I don't want to talk about it."

"You haven't talked about it for months."

"And I'm not going to." Hermione ground her teeth, her throat tense and closing. "I'm not going to talk about it. That's my last word on it. I'm going to focus on taking this case, getting back to work, and moving on. That's all."

The only sounds for a few minutes were the pop and hiss of logs in the fireplace and the slow whistle of the kettle of water as it came to a boil. Harry coughed, pushed his chair back, and went to the kettle to fix his tea. He brought the kettle back to the table to stir into a bowl of oats. "What case?" he said, finally, as if they'd mentioned nothing else since he came into the kitchen.

Hermione relaxed at Harry's silent agreement to drop the previous topic. "This," she said, pushing the paper across the table and tapping the feathers of her quill on the circled article. "I thought I would investigate this."

Harry looked at the paper. Hermione expected a smile, a nod, or an agreement that it was a good idea and something she should pursue, but Harry turned the paper over and shook his head. To her surprise, he said, "I don't think that's something you should get involved with. Nothing really for you in it. Besides, it's not your division. Ghosts don't fall under your duties."

Hermione stared at him, her tea cup poised halfway between the table and her mouth. "I work in any of the three divisions. Creature, Being, or Spirit, wherever they need help. You know that very well, Harry. And what do you mean, there's nothing for me in it? It's _perfect_ for me." She put down her cup and held up her hand to tick away her points on her fingers. "First, it's potentially a true ghost, which puts it under the Spirit Division of the Department of Magical Creatures, which means it does indeed fall under the duties of my employment with that department. Second, it's in a Muggle village, which means that anyone sent to investigate should be someone who has a familiarity - no, make that a _sympathy_ for Muggles, and as a Muggle-born, I'm definitely in that category, probably more than most. And third-"

"Stop, stop." Harry held up both hands in surrender. Hermione pressed her lips together. She didn't look away from him as he took off his glasses to clean them on the hem of his jersey. He sighed and shoved them into place on his nose, ruffling his fringe out from behind the lenses. "It's too early to have you go on like that. All those points. I'll accept that you have good reasons for why you should be assigned to the case, but I'm telling you, it's nothing you should bother with."

Hermione slapped her hand on the table. The cups and flatware rattled; Harry jumped. "Why not?" Hermione demanded. "It's a simple case, it falls under my duties, and it's something I want to do. I'm ready to go back to work. More than ready. I was ready months ago, but I wasn't allowed to go back just yet. Now I'm about to climb the walls! There's only so many times I can go to the library or go for a run. I'm bored, Harry, and I want to do this!"

Harry slurped his tea, avoiding her eyes. Before she could slap the table again, he looked at her. The serious expression on his face made her hesitate. "What? What is it?" She bit her lip, eying him with some wariness. "What aren't you telling me?"

"The case has already been assigned," he said. He twisted his spoon between his fingers. "It's been assigned and someone's already investigating the ghost, so you don't need to bother with it. When you go back to work on Monday, find something else, Hermione."

She knotted her brows. "You couldn't know that it's already been assigned. You're MLE. Aurors. That has nothing to do with Magical Creatures, and don't tell me that you'd know because you're head of the department. The Ministry's bureaucracy doesn't share information that easily and you skip every inter-department meeting you can."

Harry grimaced. "I know because... Well. Er. Because the person who's investigating the case _is_ someone who's the responsibility of my department. He doesn't work for me exactly, but he does have to report to me, so in a way..."

As Harry drifted into silence, a slender thread of an idea wriggled into Hermione's head. Harry's attempts to get her to back off and his reluctance to name the person involved in the case? That would be suspicious enough on its own, but when added to the tense and anxious look in his green eyes, she could only come to one conclusion.

She needed to hear him confirm it. Out loud. Hermione wrapped her fingers around the handle of her spoon and slowly lifted it. Pointing the bowl at Harry as if it were the tip of her wand, she narrowed her eyes. "Say it. Say it right now. Who's already investigating this case, Harry James Potter?"

He slumped in his chair, closed his eyes, and sighed. "Draco Malfoy."

* * *

Hermione tightened the laces of her running shoes and hopped down the steps of Grimmauld Place. She focused on the route she had in mind for her run instead of on the conversation she'd had with Harry. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy had been assigned to a case that should have been hers by right. Hermione deliberately ignored that she'd only found about the ghost in Faith-In-Hart that morning, and even more deliberately ignored that she hadn't been at work for months and wouldn't have been assigned in any case. As far as she was concerned, as far as she wanted to let herself think, that case was hers. She should be investigating it.

Not Draco sodding Malfoy.

Of all the people who were ludicrously inappropriate for an assignment involving Muggles, Draco Malfoy was the most ludicrous choice possible. It was as ridiculous an idea as she'd ever heard. It was worse than when Hagrid had decided to bring his half-brother Grawp back from the giants. It was worse than when she'd taken Cormac McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party. It was worse than when she'd attempted to help the house-elves at Hogwarts with her poorly knitted hats. It was, without doubt, the worst idea she'd ever heard.

Harry had refused to tell her anything further about the case, no matter how hard she'd pressed. He'd finally told her, with the firm look of determination she remembered from the war, that she was to drop the subject. Malfoy had the case and that was that. No more argument.

Hermione sniffed. "That's what he thinks," she muttered to herself, startling a young woman waiting at the corner for the traffic to clear. The woman edged closer to the street and watched Hermione from the corner of her eye. Hermione grimaced and shrugged, giving an apologetic wave before jogging down the street to the next crossing. Now she was letting him distract her enough to talk to herself in public. She pretended she didn't know, deep inside herself, which 'him' she'd meant.

She headed into the park and turned up her favorite running path. Normally the sound of the wind in the leaves of the centuries-old oaks and walnuts that lined the sides of the path would be enough to calm her thoughts and leave her mind a blank, focused on nothing but the pound of her feet against the path and the pound of her heart in her chest, but today, she couldn't focus on that. Every step said Malfoy, Malfoy, and every breath said Draco, Draco.

Growling, Hermione stopped by one of the larger trees and slumped down onto a knee-high root that had been worn smooth by years and years of passing Londoners using it for a seat. She put her elbows on her knees and leaned over, staring at the ground between her feet and trying to focus her thoughts. She had to get any thought of him out of her mind.

Hermione concentrated, trying desperately to think of a way, any way, that would allow her to get through this. Whatever she had to do to get this case, even if she couldn't explain her reasons to herself, she would do. This was something she _needed_ to do. The thought that someone else, that Draco Malfoy, had a case she could do and do well, made something twist inside her. It made her angry.

She sat up and exhaled sharply. That was it, she thought. Anger. If she let herself be angry - not enough to be reprimanded or suspended again, of course - just angry enough to talk Draco out of the case, she could take it, and then everything would work out the way it should. The best way possible. It would let her find her place at work again and let everything return to normal.

Nodding, Hermione stood to finish her jog. She'd found the way, she was sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

The lift stopped and emptied out, witches and wizards scattering through the reception room of the Department of Magical Creatures. They hurried down the corridors, into offices, and to their desks. Draco didn't move. He stared at the narrow gap between the lift and main floor. He took a deep breath and willed his feet to move but they refused to answer him. It was as if the soles of his shoes had become glued in place. _You can do this_, he told himself silently. _You can do this. One more day, Malfoy. It's only one more day. Just get off the damned lift and go to your desk._

A bell sounded, a warning that the doors were about to close, and his hand snapped forward to jam in the button to hold the doors open. He took another breath and put all his strength into stepping forward. Crossing the threshold into the reception room, moving from the lift to the department proper, was always difficult for him. He hated it here. As soon as the lift doors closed behind him, he wanted to turn around and jerk them open, to leap inside and flee back to the phone box exit and the trip home.

"Mr Malfoy," the receptionist called, pulling him out of his fantasy of running away. "Mr Tuffett is waiting for you."

Draco blinked and nodded. "Fuck. Thanks, Doreen." He smiled at her as he collected his post from the shelf behind her desk, hoping that his face didn't betray any of the anxiety that had bubbled up when she said 'Tuffett'. He headed down the corridor to the tiny closet that served as his office. Outside the door, he fidgeted with the knot of his tie, pulling it away from his neck, telling himself that he was only straightening the knot instead of loosening the noose it felt like it had become.

With another deep breath that left him lightheaded, he stepped into his office. An old wizard, barely bigger than a sneeze, was waiting in the chair in front of the desk, the curled toes of his green velvet boots just barely brushing the floor. "Mr Malfoy," the wizard said in a surprising baritone. Alvin Tuffett was his liaison with the Wizengamot, the person in charge of his case and the terms of his sentencing, under the supervision of a witch he'd never met. Tuffett flourished a thick file, parchment sticking out of it at wild angles. "I've reviewed your application to have your Apparition license reinstated."

"It's about time," Draco said. He dropped into his chair, put the post into a box on the corner of his desk, and plucked a blunt quill from the wire holder next to a stack of case files and reports. He absently twirled the quill, feathers spinning back and forth, as he looked at Tuffett. "I put that application in weeks ago. It's certainly taken you long enough to examine it."

"There were some discrepancies," Tuffett said with a flash of his brows. "And it appears that there still are. The records do not show that you ever took courses in Apparition, whether through official channels or another venue."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Yes," he said. "Courses are not a requirement to get a license. Passing the test is all that you need, and I did that years ago. I was licensed at seventeen."

"And you were unlicensed at nineteen, after the completion of the war hearings and trials." Tuffett didn't appear to notice how Draco stiffened. He drew a thick monocle from an inner pocket of his robes and placed it over one eye. "As a result of your participation in the-"

"You yanked my license because I was a Death Eater," Draco said flatly. He set the quill down before he could snap it. Leaning back in his chair, he gripped the arms of it tight. "I am not currently licensed to Apparate, I am forbidden the use of a Portkey, I may not own or operate a broom, and I must contact your department for permission to access any Floo for any reason, which is usually denied. I know all of this. It was part of my release. I was told I could reapply for my Apparition license after a three year probation. I did so then. I have _re_-reapplied every year since. And every year I'm denied. You took so much longer this year that I was actually starting to get hopeful."

Tuffett looked at him, one eye narrowed, the other wide and steely behind the monocle. His white brows furrowed so deeply they seemed to form a V on his forehead. "There are reports that you have been seen Apparating without a license, Mr Malfoy, in direct contravention of the terms of your agreement with the Wizengamot."

Draco swore under his breath. He tipped his head over the back of his chair and stared at the dusty tiles of the ceiling. "I have not. I have not Apparated even once since you took my license away. Not once in nearly fifteen years."

Tuffett drew a parchment from the file and held it up. "October of twenty-eleven, from Hogsmeade. November, from Hogsmeade. December, from Hogsmeade, three times. January of twenty-twelve. February, from _Paris_. I could go on, Mr Malfoy." He put the parchment back into the file, folded his hands atop it, and peered at Draco. "And all these Apparition incidents were in the presence of-"

"Another party." Draco gritted his teeth and exhaled sharply through his nose. he sat up and looked directly at Tuffett. "For your information, on each of those dates, and on any others you aren't going to mention, the other party was the one in charge and doing the actual Apparition. I only went Side-Along. I have not, at any time, broken the terms set for me by the Wizengamot. And speaking of that?" He gave a tight smile, drawing the corners of his mouth back without showing his teeth. "I wasn't aware I was being _followed_."

Tuffett returned Draco's smile, even tighter, but with the points of his teeth visible. "Your interactions with this 'other party' were of interest. Highly unusual, Mr Malfoy, especially in light of your personal history, to form a relationship with her. In my opinion, that is."

"For fuck's sake." Draco pushed out of his chair and slammed his hands on his desk, crumpling papers beneath his palms. He leaned over the desk to glare at Tuffett. "My relationship? Is none of your business. It's none of the Wizengamot's business. It was no one's business but mine and hers and if you think it is, you can stick it straight up your arse. She did the Apparating wherever we went and that's all you need to know, so shove that in your files."

Tuffett slapped the file shut and hopped off the chair with a nasty grin wreathing his mouth. "Thank you very much for your co-operation, Mr Malfoy. You'll have your answer shortly."

He scurried out of the office before Draco could do more than snarl. Within a heartbeat, there was a sharp popping sound and he looked down to see his application resting between his splayed hands. A stamp across the top in large, blinking, red letters said 'Denied'.

Draco growled and crumpled the application, dropped it into the bin, and slumped in his chair. "Bastards," he muttered. "Bastards, the lot of you. Should count yourself damned lucky." He drifted off into swearing and grumbling. Any time he needed or wanted something, Tuffet, that little boil of a bureaucrat, seemed to enjoy jerking him around. He thought about checking up to see if there was anything he could use in order to file a complaint against this Tuffett, who apparently had come to deny him in person solely for the pleasure of irritating him, then discarded the idea with a final growl. Anything he did could be identified as noncompliance or retaliation, and it wasn't worth the consequences.

Retaliation was a very tempting idea, though, especially at the confirmation that he was being followed. Despite what he'd told Tuffett, he'd known there was something up. There were too many unexplained coincidences otherwise, like the elderly man, likely Tuffett in a poor disguise, who popped up in the same restaurant and on the same street more than a dozen times in a year. Draco knew someone had been tracking his movements, but was outraged they'd gone so far as to actually follow him, especially outside of Diagon Alley or the magical sections of London. His history during the war was enough reason for them to be sure he was staying out of Knockturn Alley or places with known connections to the defunct Death Eaters or other Dark wizards, but to follow him everywhere? Even to Paris, where he had spent a glorious two weeks?

Draco stalked out of his office, forcing those thoughts out of his head. If he let himself dwell on it, he'd never be able to focus on his assignment, on the case at hand. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Most especially, he couldn't afford to be distracted with thoughts of _her_.

He went to the department's tiny canteen and concentrated on fixing himself a cup of the weak, bland tea that was all he could find in the cupboards. The last biscuits in a dented tin on the counter were topped with a sticky icing in a disgusting shade of pink. Draco snapped one into two crumbling pieces and ate it anyway, half-hoping it would kill him.

"Oh, there you are," he heard, and he turned to see Doreen standing in the doorway. "Mr Malfoy, you're just the most popular wizard in the department today," she bubbled. "All sorts of visitors. It's-"

"No need to announce me."

Draco shoved the other half of the biscuit into his mouth to keep from saying something remarkably rude as MLE's wonder boy, Head Auror Harry Potter, appeared behind Doreen. "Malfoy," Harry said with a short nod. He crooked one finger at Draco. "Come with me. Need to talk."

* * *

Draco stood at the charmed windows of Harry's office and examined the view. Most people in the Ministry who ranked high enough to have windows chose tree-filled parks or interesting buildings or one of the magical sites around the country like Stonehenge, Glastonbury Tor, or, for those with a more mischievous bent, the Cerne Abbas Giant. Harry had a view of the River Thames, with Jubilee Gardens and the London Eye in the background. The charm work was done well enough that onlookers could see the logos and sayings on the shirts of people waiting to ride the huge wheel.

Draco warned his hands on his tea cup as he watched a young family shuffle onto the wheel, the parents hunched over to hold the tiny hands of two toddlers who skipped and bounced into the carriage. He turned away from the window and sipped his tea, then blinked in surprise and took a much longer drink. "Well," he said. "Being Head of the Auror Office certainly has its perks." He held up the cup when Harry gave him a questioning look.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said with a quick smile. "Good, isn't it? Some sort of redbush tea. Think it's from Africa. My assistant loves it, brings it in every week. Don't let him get started on all the health benefits or you'll be there for days." He scraped an errant feather and broken quill into the bin beside his desk. "Shall we get to it?"

"Small talk isn't really our thing, is it?" Draco took a seat in one of the wide leather chairs in front of Harry's desk. "Came down to find me in person. Must be hush-hush if you didn't want to send a flunky to fetch me here. Didn't want the office gossips to get word? This wasn't the way to go about it. Doreen had everyone in the secretarial pool alerted before we got on the lift, I can guarantee you."

Harry leaned back in his chair and stared at Draco. He scratched the top of one ear, sighing. "I was already there to check on ... someone else."

Draco threw a sharp look at him, but Harry continued without further explanation. "I talked to your supervisor yesterday. Verified that you were ready to go. The case, the ghost, all that. Elkins was fine with it, but your Wizengamot liaison acted off about the whole thing. Couldn't tell if he wanted to get you the hell out of London or if he didn't trust you out of his sight."

"Very few people do." Draco said with a half-hearted shrug. "Consequences of a misspent youth. If anyone had told me I'd actually live through the entire war, I might have made different choices." He gestured over his shoulder at the wheel slowly rotating in the distance. "Office with a window would have been nice."

"Come by on Thursdays. It's the zoo, then."

"Never was much for animals." Draco rubbed his arm where the hippogriff had clawed him open all those years before.

Harry gave a quick snort. "So you ended up in Magical Creatures. Good choice."

"That wasn't a choice, Potter."

They stared at each other. Harry broke first, looking away and clearing his throat. "Right. About your assignment. Faith-In-Hart is a Muggle village, no magical residents at all, so you're going to have to watch yourself even more carefully while you're there."

"Don't insult the Muggles, don't use any spells, and, above all, don't be an evil Dark wizard hell-bent on world domination." Draco stared into his tea. A tiny shred of a leaf floated near the rim and he plucked it out. He wiped it on the side of his chair while Harry wasn't looking. "I know all the rules. They've never changed, unless it was to get tighter. I'm surprised I'm not actually chained to my desk by this point. The Ministry seems to enjoy having a pet Death Eater in its cage."

Harry sighed. "You got off light," he said quietly. "You weren't of age, you were threatened, your family was threatened. You and your mother both did a few things that turned out to be helpful in the long run. All of that was taken into consideration when you were sentenced. That's _why_ you're still free. I know you're under loads of restrictions, but it's better than Azkaban."

"Dunno," Draco said, pretending to examine his nails. "My father used to say he got to see the sun once or twice a year. His letters were alarmingly cheery on that point."

Harry met his eyes and gave him a steady look. This time Draco looked away first. "I'll behave myself, Potter. Don't twist your knickers. I'll stay within my restrictions, I'll investigate this case on behalf of the Ministry, and I'll be a good, upright citizen."

"You'll have to." Draco looked up at him, one brow raised at the unusual tone of Harry's voice. Harry opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a thick bundle of files and parchments, bound together with knotted twine. The file on top was marked with the joint symbols of the Wizengamot and MLE's Auror Office. At the bottom, a name was scribbled in Harry's messy writing. Malfoy, Draco Lucius. Harry drummed his fingers on the file. "Your next hearing is in a month," he said. "And if you pull this off..."

His voice softened. "If you pull this off, it could be your _last_ hearing."

Draco stiffened. The tea left in his cup sloshed against the sides and he put it down quickly before he spilled on the faded carpet. Locking his hands together to keep the shake in them from being as obvious, he swallowed hard. "Last hearing. What do you mean, last hearing?"

Harry drew his wand and tapped it on the knotted twine. The knot slithered loose, the ends falling to the desk. Harry opened the file and spread the parchments out. "You've done good work the past few years, Malfoy. No matter what kind of shit you get for it, you keep your head down and you keep working. You don't fight against your restrictions. Much," he added with a short laugh. "And I have several different letters of recommendation for you from jobs you've done. All in all, you've proved to my satisfaction that you are fully rehabilitated and that you no longer need to be under the eye of the Auror Office. I intend to testify on your behalf at your next hearing and recommend that you be completely released from the terms of your sentence."

Draco sat without moving. His mouth hung open throughout Harry's speech. At the final statement, he snapped his jaw shut with a loud clack of his teeth. "Potter," he said slowly. "If you're fucking with me, I will _gleefully_ go to Azkaban for killing you. Could even be justifiable."

"It's true. Every word. Everyone deserves a second chance, Malfoy." Harry shifted a few papers, pushed his glasses up his nose, and shrugged. "I honestly didn't think you'd last three years, and it's been five times that. You've surprised me. Surprised the whole world, really. If you can do this assignment without any trouble, without breaking a single rule set for you, then I'll get your sentence cleared. I promise I will get you freed. You've earned it."


	3. Chapter 3

The trip back to Magical Creatures went fast, and Draco whistled as he stepped out of the lift with no hesitation in his stride. Doreen looked at him with a wide smile. "Someone's in a better mood," she said. "Glad to see it. You have a great smile, Mr Malfoy. It's a shame you don't show it off more often. Understandable with everything that's happened to you, but it's so nice that you're able to keep going despite it all. I really admire that in you."

"After the news I just got, you should be seeing this smile for the rest of the day." Draco leaned a hip against the short side of Doreen's desk and flicked the petals of one of the carnations in the vase next to her quill holder. "I don't think there's anything that could-"

"Draco Malfoy!"

"Ruin my day." Draco slumped and pinched the bridge of his nose. After talking to Harry, he'd managed to forget that it was Hermione's first day back to the department. The echoing shout brought him back to reality fast. He rubbed his temple and straightened up to turn and face the woman storming toward him.

That had been a mistake. She'd dressed up for her return to work, and now that he was looking at her, he couldn't look away. Her blue dress stopped just above her knees, the floating hem licking at her thighs. Tall, spiked heels showed off her trim ankles and toned calves. The deep neckline of the dress was filled in with a pale cream lace that did more to draw his eyes to the shadowed valley between her breasts than distract him.

She strode up to him and planted her feet, fists jammed on her hips. The heels put her within two inches of his height and she stared directly into his eyes. "How dare you," she snapped. "How dare you think that you're qualified to take a case involving Muggles? You are absolutely the _last_ person who should be dealing with Muggles and there is no reason-"

"Hermione." Draco didn't realize until he'd spoken that he'd intended to say her name. He definitely hadn't intended to say it in that low, rolling voice that had stopped her talking so many times before. He could feel heat spreading down the back of his neck and could see a blush forming on Hermione's cheeks. He coughed quietly and straightened his shoulders. "Miss Granger. What can I do for you?"

Hermione folded her arms under her breasts and glared at him. "You can tell me what makes you think that this Faith-In-Hart ghost case is one that _you_ should be taking. What were you thinking, Draco? It's ridiculous that you would even-"

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione sucked air over her teeth, spinning around with her eyes sparking at the second interruption in a minute. Draco took a step back. A Granger in high dudgeon was a Granger not to be interrupted. Not without certain underhanded tactics that he had perfected at one time.

Doreen straightened her shoulders under Hermione's glare. She narrowed her eyes and returned the stern look. "Miss Granger," she said, her voice tight, with a harsh tone to it that made Draco raise a brow. "Today is your first day back. If you're going to hex anyone, do it out of the building. They're going to turn your office into a supply closet if you have to take leave again."

"It _is_ a supply closet," Hermione said acerbically. She huffed, then blew out her breath and dragged both hands through her hair to shove her curls behind her shoulders. Her hands fell to her sides, fingers flexing and curling. "You're right," she said after a moment. "Doreen, don't worry. I'm not going to hex anyone. _Yet_," she added, whipping around to point one finger at Draco. "Don't you even think about slithering off, Malfoy. I'm not done with you."

Draco held up both hands. "Not slithering. Just heading to my office."

"I'll join you." Her heels cracked against the floor as she fell into step beside him despite his token protest. That close, the scent of her perfume, something warm and spicy, wrapped around him. Draco tried to inhale quietly. It was a bad idea and would mess with his dreams for the next week, but he wanted to keep that scent with him.

He stepped into his office, Hermione directly behind him, and picked up the post he'd forgotten when Harry hauled him off to MLE for their chat. "If you're planning to continue shouting at me," he said, dumping three invitations for office parties straight into the bin, "let me stop you. I didn't _ask_ for this assignment. I think it's as horrific an idea to send me to a Muggle village as you do. But I wasn't given the option to turn it down. It's the Horklump colony all over again."

Hermione wrinkled her nose and sighed. "What do you think Elkins is doing to you this time?"

"The usual."

"She's not after you, Draco. You may think she is, but it's not as though she's sneaking up behind you in the corridors and hexing you in the back."

Draco looked up from an envelope. "No. That's the average wizard on the street. Elkins hates me straight to my face."

He stared at Hermione until she flushed and glanced away. "Y-yes. Well. There's no sense in you going. Muggles, Draco. Maybe there's a ghost, maybe not, but there's definitely Muggles. Sending you off alone? I'm not sure who would get punished more."

"I'm not going alone. I'm going with Laura Madley. She'll be watching me the whole time, so Elkins can get her reports and her jollies and oh fuck." He held a card in both hands. On the cover, a unicorn with a bandage around one leg reclined on a thick patchwork pillow. Draco snatched a note out of the card. "Sign and return to reception. Who's ill?" He flipped the card open and swayed, groping for his chair.

"Draco?" Hermione extended one hand, stepping closer.

Draco shook his head at her. He slapped a button on the intercom at the side of his desk. "Doreen!" he shouted. "What's this card?"

Doreen's voice came from the speaker, tinny and warbling. "Get well card for Laura."

"Laura? _Laura_?" Draco dropped into his chair, breath leaving him in a whoosh. "Tell me there's more than one Laura in the department."

"Just the one. Laura Madley. She tangled with an Occamy this weekend. The Indian National Quidditch team sneaked one in for their exhibition match. She'll be in hospital for at least three weeks."

Draco slumped forward and put his head on the desk. "Shit," he muttered into the wood. "Shit, fuck, fucking shit."

"Mr Malfoy?" Doreen sounded worried. Draco didn't move until she spoke again. "There's something else."

He tipped his head sideways and groaned. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione press the intercom button. "Draco's having an aneurysm, Doreen. What is it?"

"Supervisor Elkins left a message for him before she went to lunch. It said, hmmm, let me find it, just a second." There was the sound of papers rustling and a thump and clatter followed by a muffled swearing. After a minute, Doreen spoke again. "Here we are. Dicto-Quill message. 'Tell Malfoy that Madley is out of commission and he has until the end of the day to find a new partner and get them cleared by the Auror Office. If he can find someone who isn't on assignment and is willing to work with him.' Oh, dear," Doreen said.

"What now?" Draco mumbled into his desk.

"At the bottom. I think she forgot to shut down the Dicto-Quill. It says, and I quote, 'that should give him some dammit quill stop'. Sorry, Mr Malfoy."

Draco weakly lifted his head and flicked two fingers at the intercom. Hermione disconnected it. "That's a relief," she said.

Draco sat up and glared at her. "It's not a relief. It's a catastrophe. A complete and utter clusterfuck."

"I don't remember you swearing this much before," Hermione said, drawing her fingers along the edge of his desk.

"Before, I wasn't about to lose-" Draco cut himself off and gritted his teeth. It was none of her business why he needed this assignment so much. There was no way he was going to explain. Not then, not to her. "Never mind. It's a problem, all right? I have to go on this case. That's all there is to it. I _have_ to."

Hermione settled into the chair facing him and smoothed the hem of her dress over her crossed legs. "Looks like you're screwed, then. I'm going to take it. I'm the best candidate, especially when it comes to a case involving Muggles, and I was going to talk Elkins into throwing you off the assignment as it was. Now I don't have to. I'll just take over. You can send me any notes you have. Unless there's someone free?" she asked with a false cheer that made Draco grip the arms of his chair with force.

"No," he said flatly. "There are plenty of people free but no one's willing to leave town with me, surprise, surprise. Laura was the only one and that was because she's the biggest fair play Hufflepuff to come out of Hogwarts in three hundred years. Plus she fancies Elkins and will do anything to get under her skirts."

Hermione hummed and examined her nails. "Then it's settled. I'll take the case. Nice assignment for a first day back."

Draco stared at Hermione, his hands so tight on the arms of his chair that his fingers cramped. "No," he said. "No. Not happening. There's no way in hell I'm just handing this over to you. I _need_ to do this, Hermione."

"There's no one else," she said, lifting her brows. "You just said. You can't possibly do this alone, so-"

"Come with me."

They both froze, staring at each other. Hermione's eyes were wide and shocked; Draco was sure his were just as startled. He hadn't meant to say that or anything even close to it, but now that the words were out, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. Or maybe it was, but it didn't matter. If he didn't take and succeed at this assignment, Harry wouldn't testify before the Wizengamot, and if Head Auror Potter didn't testify, Draco's record wouldn't be cleared. He couldn't take waiting another three years for his next hearing. Not when he was this close, so close he could practically feel freedom in his bones. If she thought she could take the assignment from him, she had another think coming. He was willing to do whatever it took to get his restrictions removed.

He coughed and pried his hands from the chair. Folding them together on the desk, he looked at Hermione. He did his best to keep his expression clear, to give her no reason to suspect anything unusual. From the way she returned his look, he hadn't succeeded. He didn't care. "Come with me," he said again. "You're right, you're the most qualified person to deal with Muggles. I fully agree with you there. Can't think of anyone better. But I can't hand the assignment over to you. Besides the fact that I just don't want to, Potter's already set everything up for me to go. If you want to be involved, then that's no problem. I'm fine with that. The Auror Office would approve you in a second. There wouldn't be much to change, just take Laura's name off the forms and put yours on instead."

He stood and circled the desk to sit on the corner of it, closer to her. He touched her, drawing his fingers down the back of her hand to circle under her wrist and sweep along her forearm. It wasn't entirely fair of him, a reminder of what had happened between them in the past; it wasn't entirely sane of him, either, as the feel of her skin, soft and warm, made his heart race, but he knew what it would do to her. The gentle touch on one of her most sensitive body parts, nearly an erogenous zone, always drove her mad. It was one of those underhanded tactics he knew so well. He'd hate himself for using it now if she wasn't giving him that wide-eyed look and sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.

"Please, Hermione," he said, brushing her arm again. She shivered and ducked her head, hair falling over her face to hide the red blush that had streamed over her cheeks. Draco took a deep breath and used the last weapon he had. "Come with me. I need your help."

* * *

Draco tipped his head against the wall, stretched his legs out along the narrow bed tucked into the corner of his room, and listened to the man upstairs shouting at his ex-wife on the telephone for the eighth time that month. Muggles, at least the ones who let rooms in this house, didn't believe in private conversations, apparently. Bob or Bill or whoever, the name still unclear to Draco even after living there for nearly three years, liked to wander the halls and common areas, yelling into that odd mobile device about fucking Rhonda, her fucking sister, the fucking M25, and those fucking Gooners. Draco had determined that the 'Gooners' were some sort of sport team, and one that disappointed Bob-Bill on a regular basis, but anything else was impossible to identify through the raving and the heavy accent.

A slamming door and pounding footsteps told him that Bob-Bill had stormed out for the nightly pissup at whatever sticky pub he favored, and Draco closed his eyes to concentrate on his own problems.

He'd asked Hermione to join him on the assignment. Not just asked. He'd practically begged. He knew that, at the time, he'd tried to frame it to himself as talking her into helping him for his own benefit, but now that he was alone in his tiny Ministry-assigned flat, he could admit the truth to himself.

He wanted to be near her again.

That was the simplest way to put it, the easiest thing to tease out of the mess of confusion and longing and need that was twisted in his mind. There was more to it, _far_ more to it than he was willing to examine, but that was a starting point.

He missed her. What they'd had before... There was nothing in his life that could compare to how things had been with her. Of all the people in the world, she was the wrong one by most standards. Muggleborn and pureblood. Fallen Death Eater and victorious fighter. However anyone wanted to put it, whatever point of comparison was chosen, they were completely wrong for each other and always had been.

If only they hadn't felt so _right_.

When they were together, everything was perfect. He forgot about his sentence, his past, his mistakes. He only thought about how free he felt with her. Not allowed to even touch a broom? Not a concern. When she brushed his fringe out of his eyes and smiled at him, he could fly. When she rested her head on his shoulder and drifted to sleep, her thigh pressed to his and her hand over his stomach, he could reach out and pluck the stars from the sky.

He missed all of that, all of her, with a pain that felt like broken glass in his veins. He missed her more than he could have ever imagined before things had ended.

He'd asked her to join him on the assignment because he missed her, and even trying to assassinate Albus Dumbledore could not have been a bigger mistake. Draco thumped his head on the wall, grimacing when he heard the thin plaster crack, and groaned deep in his throat. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to get the thought of her out of his mind. It wasn't working. All he could think about was the way she'd looked at the Ministry that day.

The way she'd looked at _him_. First the outrage, then...

"Goddammit," he mumbled, his fingers pressing against his throat to feel his heart racing. Then. Then he touched her, and she looked at him. It was just for a moment before she ducked her head, but in that moment he'd seen the emotions that had burned between them. The attraction, the desire, the searing need. In that one second, he'd remembered everything they'd been to each other, and it had nearly shattered him. Her anger had been some sort of performance, a tactic he'd recognized from prior cases and previous Ministry-related fights. When she wanted something desperately enough, her temper could be legendary. But the look she'd given him, the passion in it... That hadn't been faked. That had been real, and it had brought up a stir of memories he'd never been able to forget.

Draco closed his eyes and listened to the house creaking around him and the traffic on the street outside. He shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have asked her to come on the assignment with him. He wriggled down to lie across the bed, tucked his hands beneath his head, and stared at the irregular water stain on the ceiling. He shouldn't have done it. It was a mistake. It could cost him everything he'd worked toward since the day of his sentencing. He never should have asked her to join him. It was going to be hell.

* * *

_A/N: Hey R&R!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hey guys, I just wanted to let you know that I might update a bit slower because I am a bit busy with wedding stuff, but I will try to update quickly!_

_I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Near the phone box that hid the street entrance to the Ministry of Magic, Hermione refastened the elastic on the end of her long braid, adjusted the strap of the leather bag over her shoulder, and rolled her eyes at Harry. "Don't bother," she said as he started to speak. "You've already said the same thing a dozen times. You're not going to change my mind. I wanted this assignment, and if I have to work with Draco, so be it. I'm fully capable of it." Harry opened his mouth again and Hermione held up her hand. "I'm also fully capable of doing this _without_ hexing him. I'm sure he'll deserve it a dozen times in the first hour we're there, but I'll behave."

"It's not you I'm worried about," Harry muttered, low enough that Hermione could pretend to ignore what he'd said. She chose to do so, checking the books she'd put in her bag. One travel guide to the Cotswolds, one wildly popular novel with a nondescript cover, and three books on ghosts, two Muggle, one magical. Beneath them was the trunk she'd packed and given a Shrinking Charm.

Harry cleared his throat. "I don't see why you wanted this case so much. _Still_," he added when she looked at him. "Yes, still. You gave me all your reasons, but they don't make enough sense. It's in your department. Fine. It deals with Muggles. All right. It's light duty for your first case now that you're back to work. Got it. But that's not-" He shrugged and tossed up his hands in confusion. "It's all very good, but it's not _logical_. Not for you. Not for Hermione Granger, the rational one."

Hermione pushed a loose curl off her forehead and looked down the street, acting as if she were looking for Draco. He had told her to wait near the phone box for him and Harry had insisted on waiting with her. She realized now that she should have Petrified him and left him in his office. Fending off the occasional overly-flirtatious man passing by on the street would have been less frustrating than fending off Harry's questions. Especially questions she couldn't answer. She'd been thinking about it since she'd seen the article in the paper. She couldn't explain it to herself, much less to Harry. "It's one of the mysteries of life," she said, forcing a note of levity into her voice. "Can't explain it, Harry. You'll have to put it down to the ineffable vagaries of the feminine mind."

"God," Harry mumbled, slumping against the wall next to the phone box. "Fine, forget it. When you start throwing around words like vagaries, it's time to give up. I feel like McGonagall is about to assign twelve inches." He rubbed his scar under his fringe. "Just hope you know what you're doing. Try not to kill Malfoy, would you? I hate doing paperwork."

Hermione snorted. She checked her watch, twisting the band around her wrist to get the sunlight off the reflective face so she could see the numbers. "If he doesn't show up soon, I might have to kill him. He said he'd be here by half ten."

Harry pointed behind her, his green eyes shining and his lips quirked in a teasing smile. With his voice full of laughter, he said, "Maybe that's him."

Hermione turned around to see an antique car pulling up to idle beside them. Long, sleek, painted in a shimmering grey, it seemed to purr even when the engine shut off. She didn't need to see the red badge on the radiator grill to identify the car. "Phantom," she whispered, her hands tight around the strap of her bag. "It's a Phantom. Oh my god. I _love_ these!"

She jumped forward to let her hands hover over the car's hood, careful not to touch it so she wouldn't leave fingerprints on the beautiful shining paint. She turned her head to look into the car. The shock dropped her forward, arms sliding across the hood. Behind the wheel sat Draco Malfoy.

"Shit, I was kidding," she heard behind her.

Hermione scrambled up and staggered back beside Harry as Draco stepped out of the car. "Mal-Mal," she tried. Next to her, Harry was practically choking. "Mal. Malfoy," she finally managed. "A car? You? Own a car?"

Draco patted the roof affectionately. The buttoned sleeve of his pressed shirt rode up and he jerked it down quickly to hide the silvery scar on his forearm, shaking his arm to settle it into place. "Nice, isn't it? Thought we could go to the Cotswolds in style since all my other options are out."

Hermione knotted her brows, confused by Draco's statement, but before she could ask, Harry stepped forward. He shook his head. "No. No way, Malfoy. There's no way you can use a magical car. How could you even think you'd get away with this?"

"Ah, there's the trick," Draco said. He leaned against the car and folded his arms to smirk at Harry. "It's not magical. It's completely Muggle. Not a spell or charm has been anywhere near this thing. It's as pristine as the day my great-grandfather got it. Not one person can stop me from driving this to the Cotswolds. Doesn't break a single rule that I'm meant to follow."

Harry made a face. "Transportation gets any hint of this and they'll figure out a way to forbid it."

"Then it will go back into the loving hands of Royland and Sons Vintage Auto Service and Storage, where it's been since my great-grandfather died." Draco scratched the tip of his nose and glanced to Hermione, still smiling. "But to be on the safe side, we should get going before someone, possibly named Potter, alerts Transportation. Get your luggage, Granger."

She tore her eyes away from the car with some effort. "Right here," she said, patting her bag. Draco gave her a curious look and Hermione flashed a grim. "Spatial Charms a specialty. You'd be amazed how much I can fit into one trunk and how small that trunk can be."

"I remember. The amount of things you took to Par-" Draco coughed and straightened up. "Let's go," he said before he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door.

Hermione was grateful Draco had stopped there. She didn't need the reminder of their last trip together right before they left on this one. From the look on Harry's face, he either knew and wouldn't ask, or he didn't want to know. She gave him a quick hug. "We'll be fine, Harry. I'll be fine, I promise. Don't fret. Shuffle around the house in your boxers and spill crisps all over the rug. I know what you do when I'm gone."

Harry laughed and playfully tapped her shoulder. "It's what men do on their own. But all right, I give up. Go. Be safe. If you do kill him, hide the body and act innocent."

"Deal." Hermione fixed his collar and patted his cheek before hopping away to rush around the car and clamber into the passenger seat. She drummed her hands on her thighs and kicked her feet like a child. "C'mon, let's go!"

Draco gave a jaunty wave to Harry and pulled away. "Had no idea you liked cars," he said.

"If I'd known you had one, you'd have known I liked them." Hermione gave into the temptation to run her fingers over every bit of the interior she could reach. "Actually, it was my grandmother who really liked cars. She was a mechanic in the Women's Auxiliary during the war. Muggle war," she clarified when Draco made an odd sound. "Back in the forties. She mostly worked on military vehicles but sometimes she'd get her hands on an officer's private car. She said she met the Queen once. Before she was the Queen, of course. Gran learned to love cars, and when I'd visit when I was little, she'd show me all these photos she had from cars she'd worked on. One of my favorites was just like this. A Rolls-Royce Phantom. What series is it? One? Two? Who did the body work? What year is it?"

Draco, who had a small smile curling his lips through all her questions, shook his head. "No idea. I don't know anything about it, really. Family legend says my great-grandfather bought it on a bet. Bit of a gambler, him. Couldn't resist a wager, even if it involved Muggle things. From what I know, it was something to do with red petrol, but beyond that, it's lost to time. Car's been in storage since he died. I think the caretakers drive it once or twice a year to keep it running. First time I've taken it out myself, though."

Hermione settled back, stroking the door beside her. "That explains why your family has a car, but brings up another question. Where did you learn to drive?"

Draco chuckled. "Doreen taught me. Passed me walking to my flat one night and she drove me home. She insisted that anyone my age, wizard or not, should know how to drive. Gave me a crash course one weekend. Almost literally," he said with a shake of his head. "Went around in circles in some empty lot for a few hours. Flattened a couple of rubbish bins and scraped her mirror off, but I managed."

"I can't believe you can drive," Hermione said. "I can't believe Doreen was mad enough to teach you, really, but I definitely can't believe that you learned."

"How else did you think we were getting to the Cotswolds? I certainly wasn't planning to walk there."

"Portkey, I thought. Should have been easy enough to get one."

Draco tensed. "Need to concentrate," he grumbled. He went silent, his hands locking around the wheel.

Aware that she'd just tripped over something that broke their mood, but unsure of what it was, Hermione waited until they were well out of the city before speaking again. "What Harry was saying about Transportation. They'll forbid it and your other options are out? What's this about?"

Draco didn't respond. He kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. Hermione nestled back in her seat, watching his profile and mulling over things in her mind, going over every moment she could remember that had to do with magical forms of transportation and Draco Malfoy. Something clicked and she sucked in air quietly. "It's why you made me Apparate us both whenever we went anywhere, isn't it? All those excuses - Floo made you ill, Portkeys took too long - they were nothing more than excuses, weren't they?"

Draco's eyes flickered, the small action enough to confirm her thoughts. Hermione danced her fingers on the top of her door without looking away from him. "The Department of Transportation shouldn't have the authority to _forbid_ you, though."

"They don't," Draco finally said, his voice barely louder than the car's engine. "But the Wizengamot does. Part of my sentence. No Portkey, no Floo, no broom. And they just denied me an Apparition license again this week. So, I'm left with this," he said, gesturing at the interior of the car. "At least it's a decent way to travel, even if it does stick out a bit. I can pretend to be some rich, pretentious ponce, right?"

It was a weak attempt at a joke and Hermione didn't laugh. She drew her braid over her shoulder to tap the end against her lips. "I could have Apparated us both," she said. "We're familiar with that. I'm sure we could stand to touch for a few minutes."

Draco growled under his breath and shook his head as he passed a rusty sedan with a spaniel panting out the rear window. "No. As it happens, no. I'm not going to get into it, but that wouldn't have worked." He looked at her and gave a tight smile. "Enjoy the trip, Granger. Not every day you get to ride in a Phantom."

He went back to driving, the topic clearly closed as far as he was concerned. Hermione kept watching him for a few moments, then turned to stare out the window and let her mind wander. She wasn't done with the subject, but she was willing to let it go for a while.

* * *

Draco stayed silent for most of the drive. He glanced over when they were twenty miles from the village of Faith-In-Hart to see Hermione sleeping, her head against the door. Her mouth hung open and her fingers were curled on her thigh, twitching as if she was holding a quill and writing notes. Unable to help himself, Draco smiled. She always did research in her dreams. He'd put a quill in her hand one night and she'd written, messy and illegible, on the bedsheets.

When she yawned and stirred in her sleep, Draco turned his attention back to the road to keep from watching her. While Doreen had taught him to drive, he hadn't bothered to get a license. The company who stored and cared for the car kept it legal, but he couldn't afford to make any mistakes that might draw attention from Muggle authorities. Driving was a bewildering process as it was, and Hermione's presence in the car, even snoring quietly, was a huge distraction. He kept wanting to touch her. To rub his thumb over the heavy seam on her jeans or to rest his hand on the back of her neck. Seeing her as he'd pulled up by the phone box outside the Ministry, with her braid shining like sculpted copper in the sun, had made him think.

Made him think that he should keep driving, never stop, head across the Channel and disappear into one of those minuscule countries in the middle of Europe. He could raise goats, make cheese, learn Flemish. Anything would be simpler than spending time with Hermione. Together. Alone.

He was in deep already, and he knew it. Her gleeful excitement over the car, her cheery babbling about her grandmother and her childhood - it could have been irritating. He'd found it charming, even endearing. He had talked about his own family, something he rarely did even for her, in hopes that she'd keep going. That she'd keep talking and fill the car with her voice and the warmth of her laugh.

Then she'd questioned him. Draco's hands tightened on the wheel. He sped up to pass a brightly painted lorry and leave the road clear ahead of him. Certain things he never discussed, and they'd been treading too close. Going into that silent, non-responsive state hadn't been the best option and had probably tipped her off to something that would lead to more questions later, but his other choice in an uncomfortable situation was to get the hell out, to take off and never look back. Not possible while he was driving.

Draco took a slow breath and forced himself to concentrate on the road, on keeping his speed within safe boundaries and the car from drifting. It wouldn't be possible to get away from her at all on this assignment. He made a silent wish that they could solve the case quickly and get back to London without much trouble. Otherwise he might go mad before he could reach his hearing.

* * *

_A/N: I hoped that you liked this chapter, please remember to read and review! R&R!_

_SillySlytherin_


	5. Chapter 5

"Granger. Granger. Hermione."

Draco gently touched her cheek. Hermione murmured and turned her head. Her lips brushed the heel of his hand. With a gasp, she sat up, eyes flying open. Draco pulled back, looking away from her. Hermione shook her head, rubbed her eyes, and cleared her throat. "Wha?"

"You were asleep," Draco said. He spoke quietly, eyes focused on the building beside the car. "Time to wake up. We're here. Welcome to Faith-In-Hart, Wiltshire, population four hundred Muggles. And two wizards."

"One wizard," she said, voice thick with sleep. "One witch."

"Let's not get into that argument." Draco got out of the car and stretched, groaning when his left shoulder popped.

"Still have trouble with that?" Hermione asked. She folded her arms on the roof of the car and nodded at his shoulder.

Draco shrugged. "Get turned into a ferret and bounced off the wall just once, and your shoulder is never the same."

She grimaced. "Moody - Crouch, that is - shouldn't have done that. It was far too-too..."

"Terrifying? Humiliating? Dislocating?"

"Vengeful." Hermione bent over to touch her toes and rotated her torso to ease out the hints of a cramp in her lower back. "But speaking of things that shouldn't be done, you're going to need to watch what you say. Transfiguration isn't teatime talk here." She straightened up and looked around.

They were parked in front of a large building. It looked as though it might have been a church at one time, but now it appeared to be an indoor version of an outdoor market, with stalls and booths where vendors sold everything from lace shawls to reproduction prints to fresh bread. Next to the market was a stone archway with a metal placard reading 'Hotel Registration'. Several other buildings, all from the late medieval era, lined the street. They had been turned into shops and restaurants for the most part, with bright signs hanging above the cobbled walks. Each shop had a window box full of flowers: violets, begonias, carnations, and nasturtiums were a riot of color. Hermione tipped her head back to let the sunshine flow over her face.

Draco removed two black cases from the car, shrugging at Hermione's curious expression when she looked to him. "Not as good at packing as you are," he said with a quick laugh. "This was as compact as I could get." He handed her bag to her and led her through the archway to a small courtyard garden.

Hermione stopped to stroke the petals of an antique tea rose. "This is lovely," she said with a contented sigh. "I could stay right here."

"We'll hope your room has a view of the garden, then." Draco hoisted his cases and jerked his head at a door tucked into a spill of ivy. "Let's check in. I want to put these down and find someplace safer to put my car. I don't want it stolen the first day I use it."

"This is a tiny village. I think we could find it again fast." Hermione patted the rose one more time and followed Draco into a reception area, warmly lit by lamps with golden glass shades. Several plush armchairs were gathered near a cold fireplace, with stacks of magazines and brochures resting on a table near the wall. A spiral staircase was just visible behind a door with a placard pointing guests to their rooms. A tall roll-top desk was in the corner of the room near another door, with an elderly woman sitting in a Windsor chair.

She smiled and stood to shake their hands. Her polished brass name badge identified her as Althea. "Welcome, welcome to Faith-In-Hart and the Wilton Hotel. Do you have a reservation?"

"Two for Malfoy," Draco said.

Althea pulled a leather-bound ledger out of a wide cubbyhole in the desk. She flipped it open to a long woven bookmark and a page with several lines of names written in a spiky script. "Malfoy," she said, drawing her finger down the list. With a purse of her lips, she turned to the previous page. This got a smile out of her. "Here we are, Malfoy. But... Oh, dear." She glanced up at Draco, then to Hermione, then she stood and pushed open the door by her. "Jilly! Jilly, come here."

"Althea, you said I could rehearse!" called a younger woman's voice.

"I said you could rehearse as long as I didn't need you. I need you. Come here."

An elfin woman, barely out of her teens, with round glasses and brilliantly green hair, emerged from behind the door and laid a long wooden recorder on the desk. Althea pointed to the ledger. "Jilly, did you take this reservation?"

Jilly pushed her hair behind her ears and peered at the ledger. "It's hair dye," Hermione whispered to Draco while the women were distracted. "She's not a Metamorphmagus."

Draco replied without moving his lips. "I know. One of the men in my building dyes his the most horrendous shade of yellow. He looks like a minicab." He looked at her and lifted a brow. "I know more about Muggles than you think, Granger."

She didn't have time to respond. Jilly nodded and tapped the ledger with a bright purple nail. "Yep, that was me. Malfoy and partner, the woman said when she called. I gave them that nice room, the one with the- oh." She looked at Draco and Hermione for the first time. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth, hiding a flash of silver dental work. "Oh, I'm so sorry. When I heard 'and partner', I just assumed it was a-a-a couple. Um, a _male_ couple. Draco Malfoy and Lawrence Madley?"

Hermione hid a smile as Draco sighed. "No," he said evenly. "Malfoy and business partner. Miss Granger is replacing Miss Laura Madley."

Jilly and Althea exchanged glances. Jilly shrugged; Althea twisted the cuff of her cardigan sleeve. "There's been a bit of a misunderstanding, then. We've given you one room. One bed," she added with a sheepish tilt of her head.

Hermione dropped her bag on the floor and stepped closer to the desk. "No," she said before Draco could speak. "No way. Please find us another room."

"That'll be hard," Jilly said. "With all the-"

"Tourists." Althea narrowed her eyes and gave a pointed look to Jilly before rummaging in the desk and coming up with a handful of brochures. She spread them over the top of the desk for Draco and Hermione to examined. "Spring always means visitors to our area and we have loads of events for tourists. There's the flower festival up in Lower Bredhurst. Beautiful conservatory there, and a darling little restaurant. Then there's Wirkswold, which has such pretty walks around the woods and a lovely waterfall. Or you could try the fair at Tornhart Hall. It's a bit of a drive, ten miles or so east, but it's so much fun. Rides and games and little shops. They say it's a historical re-enactment fair but they can't seem to pick their history. All the centuries end up jumbled together." Althea winked. "I think it's more an excuse for fancy dress and playing pretend, but there's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Jilly jumped in, pushing the brochures aside. "And if you're still here the night of the full moon, you can hear our ghost!"

"What?" Draco and Hermione said at the same time.

Jilly giggled, draping her hands over the top of the desk. Her eyes shone. "Oh, it's wonderful! A few months ago, we started hearing a ghost just outside the village. People have been coming from everywhere, trying to get a glimpse of her. All the hotels from here to Coleston are booked and not just for the festivals," she added with an impertinent look at Althea. "They're here for the ghost, too."

Althea, looking through the ledger and at a chart of rooms, clucked her tongue. "There's no ghost, Jilly. It's odd spring weather, that's all. Just what that gentleman on the radio said."

"There's a ghost. I'm sure of it. And I'm going to see it." Jilly folded her arms and lifted her chin.

Draco rapped his knuckles on the desk to halt what was clearly an unwinnable argument. "Ladies." When Jilly and Althea turned to him, he gave a smile and gestured to the ledger. "An additional room for my partner?"

Althea shook her head. "I'm sorry, but there's very little we can do. We have a gentleman checking out in two days, but everywhere else is full."

"There has to be something you can do." Hermione tugged at the end of her braid. "Please. We can't share a room, much less a bed."

Althea made a few more comparisons between the chart and the ledger. "Perhaps," she said slowly. "There's no place in the hotel proper, but we do own the garden cottage on the far end of the village. It's currently available. Beautiful view of the Roman bridge and the incense shop is right next door. Pretty private garden. And two bedrooms."

"Sounds perfect," Hermione said. "Why didn't you offer this before?"

"It's not connected, so there's no maid or room service," Althea said. "You'd be on your own until you check out, I'm afraid, unless you come to us for help." Behind Althea's back, Jilly rubbed her thumb and fingers together. Althea didn't seem to need to look at her to make a disapproving sound that halted the motion immediately. "And it's a bit pricey, dear. Exclusive arrangements, after all."

Hermione looked at Draco, who rolled his eyes and pulled a billfold from his back pocket. "Not a problem. We'll take it."

Althea didn't reach for the notes Draco held. She looked at him with a small moue of discomfort on her face. "There's ... one more problem with the room," she said. "I wouldn't suggest it at all if there was any other space available, because this does tend to turn most away. The cottage was never updated with the rest of the village. There's no electricity. It's oil lamps and a gas cooker."

Draco chuckled. "That won't be a problem. Will it, Granger?" he said, glancing at Hermione. "I think we both can handle that."

* * *

Hermione extended her arms and spun and spun in the middle of the garden. The flower beds were full and lush with purples, pinks, and yellows, from pale to darkest shades. Climbing roses clung to the side of the cottage and the stone walls that protected the garden from prying eyes. Beneath the wide branches of a lone tree, a wrought iron bench with embroidered pillows scattered over its seat rested in the dappled shade. She thought she could spend hours there, curled up with a stack of books and a pot of tea, listening to the breeze and the sound of the stream at the bottom of the gently sloping hill behind the garden wall.

The cottage itself was as perfect as the garden. Each cozy room was filled with comfortable furniture, much of it excellent reproductions of medieval pieces with a few that appeared authentic to her eyes. Her bedroom had a canopied bed, draped in dark silks, and a private bathroom. A long divan, plush and inviting, waited near the fireplace. Draco hadn't let her into his room to see if it was the same, but she thought it likely. It was clear that one person with tastes similar to hers had done the whole cottage, making it warm and welcoming to residents, no matter how temporary.

She bounced into the cottage, through the sitting room, and up the narrow stairs to her bedroom. After closing the shutters, just in case, she drew her wand from her bag along with the miniaturized trunk. She set the trunk on the floor under the windows and reversed the Shrinking charm. It took her only a few minutes to unpack - clothes in the wardrobe, toiletries in the bathroom, books on the low table by the bed. She changed shirts, picking a green cowl neck sweater. She switched shoes as well. Sturdy ankle boots were better for walking.

It wasn't until she'd crossed the hall to pound on Draco's door that she remembered the sweater was one of his favorites. He snatched the door open before she could move, and Hermione froze. She stood there, gaping at him. Shirtless, belt undone and black trousers hanging low, hair damp and dangling in his eyes, he was all sharp angles and smooth planes. Even the twisted silvery scar in his left forearm didn't detract from his lean elegance. Hermione caught herself looking at his stomach and the narrow line of pale hair that trailed below his navel and beneath his trousers.

Draco coughed, and the sound broke her stasis. Hermione spun around, hands flying up to cover her burning cheeks. "Sorry!"

"I generally like to dry off completely after taking a shower," Draco said. "But it seems I was rudely interrupted. Are we in a hurry to go somewhere or are you about to complain that I took all the hot water?"

"We, um. Hurry. Yes? Y-yes, we are. We could be." She took a deep breath. This was nothing. She could handle this. She'd seen him shirtless before. She'd seen him _naked_ before. This wasn't a problem.

She rubbed her hands over her head and down the length of her braid. By the time she turned back to Draco, he'd tugged on a shirt. As he buttoned it, he raised his brows. "And just where could we be going? I doubt we'll find any hint of this ghost floating down the high street."

Hermione leaned against the wall opposite his door. "Likely not," she said, her voice steady now that he was mostly dressed. "But we'll be able to talk to the residents, maybe some of the people who have come here for their ghost hunting. Poke our heads in a few shops, check out the market. That sort of thing. We might hear something useful. Where the ghost has been spotted, when it appears." She flapped her hands. "Like that."

Draco tucked in his shirt and fastened his belt. He watched her for a moment, then nodded. "All right. If that's what you want to do. Let me finish up. I'll meet you downstairs in a couple of minutes and then we can go exploring." He shut the door to his room.

Hermione slid down the wall, burying her face against her knees to stifle a groan. She couldn't have been more gawping and wild-eyed if she'd been thirteen again, in the midst of her lunatic fancy for Gilderoy Lockhart. She was surprised Draco hadn't checked her for a jinx or hex that made her stare at him. If she was going to act like a lovesick girl, they'd never make it through this case. She had to pull herself together. She was there to focus on her work, on handling this ghost and the Muggles and her own damned self. Not on the way a bead of water had dripped off Draco's jaw and down his chest.

A noise behind Draco's door made her scramble to her feet. She fled down the stairs without looking back.

* * *

_A/N: I hope that you all enjoyed the chapter, remember to R&R!_

_SillySlytherin_


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Sorry for the wait guys, I was sick :(_

* * *

Draco stood outside one of the little shops in the heart of the village. Hermione had scurried inside the second they'd seen it and she'd been in it for at least twenty minutes. It was a strange combination of a stationer and a pet boutique. Draco normally hated shops with twee names that the owners thought were far more clever than they actually were, but he had to admit that 'Put Some Papers Down' was a name that made him grin. He wasn't sure which part of the shop Hermione was exploring. Knowing her, both would be attractive. He only hoped that she didn't emerge with a squashed-face monster like that creature she'd had in school.

He leaned against the wall and watched other shoppers moving around the square and the squat monument in the center of the grass. Some carried large bags with bright logos, some pulled wire carts behind them, but everyone was loaded down with purchases. Tourism seemed to be a good deal for the local merchants.

A pair of young men shuffled past him, their shaved, stubbly heads down and dirty trainers scuffing along the cobblestones. They hesitated, nudging and shoving each other. Both were on the bulky side, though Draco couldn't tell if that was due to their bodies or the large coats they were wearing despite the warming weather. They reminded him a little of Crabbe and Goyle. He wondered where their leader was. They didn't strike him as the sort who did much on their own except get into trouble.

The nudging and shoving finally reached a conclusion and one of the pair edged forward. "You," he said. His head bobbed as he spoke and he didn't look up from his shoes. "You. You're the fellow with the wicked car, yeah? The old one? Saw it before. Yours, yeah?"

The young man seemed to be swallowing half of his words and it took Draco a moment to realize he was being addressed. The other one made a hawking sound and spoke up. "Phantom."

Draco mentally pegged the first as Goyle and the second as Crabbe, to keep them straight in his head. They were impossible to tell apart otherwise. Village-Goyle bobbed his head again. "Yeah. Phantom. Yours, innit?"

Draco wasn't certain he wanted to admit the car was his. These two didn't look trustworthy to him. However, the car was currently parked behind the gate that sealed off the garden cottage from the street. He didn't think either of these young men could scale the wall. "Yes," he said, nodding once. "That's my car."

"Wicked," Village-Crabbe said. They nudged each other a few more times.

"Was there something you wanted?" Draco asked, hoping the answer wasn't 'to steal it, strip it, and sell it for parts'.

Village-Goyle spat on the cobblestones and shrugged, his coat rustling like dead leaves. "Dunno. Mebbe. The old man does cars. Works on 'em and all. Taught me some things. Never got to see a Phantom up close, just pictures. No new ones, deffo no old ones."

There didn't appear to be a question in the mumbles and Draco lifted his brows, waiting. The nudging and shuffling seemed to be a requirement before either young man could operate their jaws. Village-Crabbe hunched into his coat. "Wanna."

Village-Goyle nodded. "Yeah. Wanna look at it. In the engine, yeah? Took a course. Old man says I got a knack. Could work on the old stuff. Get into special work, y'know. Get to be-" He snapped his fingers at his companion. "What's the word?"

Village-Crabbe gave a grunt. "Sclusive."

"Yeah. Sclusive. Get posh bastards with posh cars, do the fancy work, all that? More dosh in it. So how 'bout it?"

Draco stared at the duo, still confused about the conversation but beginning to put the pieces together. "You want to become a mechanic," he said slowly. The pair nodded in sync. "For vintage automobiles. So that you can build up an exclusive client base and earn more money. And in the pursuit of this, you'd like to look at my car. Do I have it?"

They nudged and shuffled and hunched and bobbed. "Yeah," Village-Goyle said, finally looking up. In contrast to the low-level menace they were trying so hard to project, his expression was open and hopeful. It was the look of a little boy seeing magic, real magic, for the first time. It was the look of someone who had realized there was far more to life than what he'd known before and who wanted to get his hands on some of it.

Draco sighed. This young man had a goal, and a big one. He had to acknowledge ambition like that. "I'm going to be around for a while. I might be able to make arrangements. What's your name?"

"Pisser," Village-Crabbe said with a snort.

Village-Goyle gave him a hard shove. "Geoffrey," he said to Draco. "Geoffrey Millburne. That's Patrick."

"All right, Mr Millburne." Draco hid a smile at the startled look the use of a title earned him. In all probability, Geoffrey had only heard 'Mr Millburne' when he was in hot water with an adult. "Stop by the desk of the Wilton Hotel tomorrow morning. I'll leave a message for you." He thought that would give him enough time to ask some of the locals about the pair. A village like this would likely know everything about the boys. If anything, he could ask Althea at the hotel. She struck him as a gossip.

"Yeah, all right," Geoffrey said. He flashed Draco a quick grin before grabbing Patrick by the coat and hauling him away. Geoffrey turned around to nod at Draco just as the doorbell rang beside him and Hermione stepped out. Geoffrey's jaw dropped and he elbowed Patrick with force. Their mouths moved. Draco didn't need to be able to hear them to know what they'd both said. Hermione was worth the stares. The obscene gesture, even if congratulatory, from Patrick was a bit much, though.

Hermione had a small box, much smaller than Draco had expected, in her hand. It didn't jingle or squawk as she tucked it into the large leather shoulder bag, so Draco assumed she'd been in the stationery side half of the shop. "What was that about?" she asked, nodding at the backs of Geoffrey and Patrick.

"Observing the indigenous wildlife." Draco chuckled when Hermione made a face at him. "You said we should talk to the residents. I'm following orders."

She narrowed her eyes but let it go. "The clerk said we should go to the market and talk to Mrs Brimble, the tearoom for Miss Gibson and Miss Humphreys, and the pub for Mr Crowden. They're all people who have claimed to have seen or heard the ghost. I gather that most of the residents think they're a bit cracked, but harmless enough. If there is a ghost in the village, those would be the best places to start."

Draco nodded and gestured across the green at the old church building. "Market first, then?"

Hermione grinned and took off before he'd finished speaking. Draco caught her up and walked beside her, shortening his strides automatically. "What took so long?" he asked as they passed the monument in the center of the green. "You spent so much time in the shop that I thought you might come out with a litter of puppies."

"Kittens," she said, laughing. "I like cats better than dogs even if puppies are terribly cute. But I wouldn't have bought a pet. It's too soon to replace Crookshanks. I haven't the heart."

Draco caught himself before he stumbled and he looked at Hermione's profile in surprise. "Replace? What happened to him?"

"Old age." Hermione glanced at him, clearly bewildered that he'd even asked. "Crooks was old when I got him, Draco. Being part- Well, you know. Even that didn't give him many more years than any other cat. He died about four months ago."

"I'm sorry." Draco hadn't liked the cat much, especially when Crooks would sleep on his legs at night, but he knew how Hermione had loved the animal. Crookshanks had been with her since she'd first stepped foot into the magical world, her companion since she was twelve years old. He couldn't imagine how she felt to lose her half-Kneazle familiar. He wished he'd known. Even with everything between them, he'd have been there for her. "I'm sorry, Hermione. That had to be a blow."

She bit her lip, her expression going distant, then she exhaled with deliberation. In control of herself, she squeezed Draco's arm and smiled at him. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate it."

They didn't speak again until they were inside the market. As if they had one voice, they both said "Look!" They were pointing opposite directions and they laughed when they realized it. Draco had pointed to a stall full of old books, leather spines and covers in varying states of decay. Hermione had pointed to a table bearing black velvet trays with rows of cuff links and tie tacks.

Draco grinned and stepped aside with a small bow. "All right, one circuit each and we meet in the middle."

"Deal." Brushing past him, Hermione went straight to the book stall. Draco hoped the vendor had a few empty boxes to spare. Hermione could clean the stall out in a matter of a few minutes.

He turned to the left and strolled along the booths by the wall. This side of the market was mostly textiles. Piles of uncut fabric, stacks of aging handkerchiefs and tablecloths, shawls and scarves in more colors than he could name. The next section was paintings, prints, and vintage posters. He stopped to examine a poster advertising the premiere performance of a nineteenth century magician. The name was familiar, and he thought this 'magician' might have been a real wizard. Hermione's memory for names was far better than his and he made a mental note to ask her.

In the next section of the market, the booths and stalls were narrower, with silver, gold, and glass jewelry the most prominent merchandise. He gave a sideways stare to a case full of Victorian mourning jewelry. The braided hair bracelets and jet beads surrounding miniature portraits of the dead made his skin crawl. He'd seen too much death in the war; that anyone would want to memorialize it to such an extent was beyond him.

He hurried past that stall, skipping the one next to it as well. At the end of the row, next to a booth selling handmade soaps, lotions, and perfumes, was a stall that was hardly more than a pair of tables. Most of the booths in the market showed signs of long-term occupancy, with decorations, comfortable chairs and warm lights, and other considered touches. This stall looked as the the vendor had arrived that morning and hadn't finished unpacking. Despite the spare, utilitarian look of it, Draco stopped. The sole tray on the front table held a dozen pieces of jewelry.

To Draco's surprise, the pieces were exquisite. Each gem appeared real, not costume or paste, and the metalwork showed signs of master craftsmanship. His eyes were drawn to a brooch no longer than his thumb. The part with the pin was shaped like a silver ribbon twining around and back on itself. A small pendant dangled from the center of the ribbon. In the center of a silver filigree was a cameo carved from green agate, its shades ranging from dark emerald to pale spring. Instead of the usual silhouette of a woman's head, the image carved into the stone was an open book.

Draco stared at the piece for several seconds, his mind whirling. It was ridiculous, he told himself. There was no reason whatsoever for him to even be looking at it. There was no one in his life he could give it to, not anymore.

He found himself reaching for his billfold regardless. A Malfoy never turned down a good opportunity, and this cameo looked as though it was meant for him to have. He paid without a quibble over the price, silently amused at the seller's widened eyes when he presented cash. Draco wondered if the woman's eyes would actually fall out if she knew he considered that no more than pocket money.

He slipped the small box into his pocket, checking that it wasn't obvious, then went to find Hermione. She was still at the book stall, chatting with the middle-aged woman ensconced in a dark armchair. "Draco," she said, smiling when she saw him. "There you are! I didn't have to go anywhere." She extended one hand to the woman who nodded a greeting. "This is Mrs Brimble," Hermione said in introduction. "We found her."

* * *

Hermione pushed a few peanut shells to the side of the table and wiped a dollop of dark foam off the rim of her glass. "I don't know why I'm eating these, after that dinner," she said. "I hate peanuts." Draco offered the pretzel bowl to her. She shuddered, grimacing. "Do you know how many people put their fingers in there?"

"One," he replied. "Got a fresh batch, right out of the package. Think the bartender, Eric, fancies me. Clean pretzels, two pints for the price of one. I tell you, if I ever do decide to go to the other side, I might move here. The bartender, that dog-walker. I appear to be doing very well for myself with the men of this village."

Hermione laughed. "The ladies at the tearoom would be happy to hear that. They're trying to form a gay and lesbian rounders team and they're short one player."

"Ah, then I've changed my mind. I'll stick with women, if rounders are what's at risk. I'm not much for team sports." Draco slung one arm over the empty seat next to him and grinned at her.

The rim of her glass clattered against her teeth as she snickered. "That's rich coming from you, Mr Qui- school sport. I think you spent more time practicing than you did studying. Loads of people thought you were aiming to turn pro after you left school."

Draco shook his head. "Not the same. Being a, er. The position I held? It was solo. I didn't really have to work with the rest of the team. All I had to do was keep an eye on the score and try not to grab too soon. I was essentially alone out there. Loved it."

"I could tell. Whenever I could see your face, you looked ... ecstatic. Like there was nothing on earth that could make you happier. You never looked more relaxed than when you were out there. It was as if there was nothing but you and the wind and the sky. It was beautiful, in a way."

Draco watched her, his expression unreadable. After a few moments of silence, he gave a tight chuckle and lifted his glass in a mock salute. "So you spent a lot of time looking at me, hmmm? Flattering, Granger. It was the uniform, wasn't it? Tight breeches and leather. Very alluring."

Hermione snorted and flicked a pretzel at him. He snapped it out of the air and tossed it up to catch it in his mouth. Grinning widely at her as he chewed, he held up both hands in victory. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Prat," she said, her voice laced with amusement.

"So they tell me." Draco looked over her shoulder, brows lifting. "Jilly's headed this way. Think the local ghost spotters have been on the grapevine? We have asked a lot of questions today."

Before Hermione could respond, Jilly bounded up to their table. "Hey!" she said brightly. "How's the cottage? Settled in? I'm really, really sorry about the mix-up. You're going to get a delivery of fresh bread in the morning, my little apology." Her hands fluttered as she talked, emphasizing every other word; her green hair swayed against her forehead as she moved.

Draco glanced at Hermione, who nodded, then he pulled out a chair for Jilly. She sat without pausing in her babble. "I knew you'd end up here by the end of the night. Everyone does. The White Hart isn't much of a pub but it's all we have. Did you know that one out of five pubs in England is named The White Hart? I think that's right. I read it somewhere. It's because of King Richard. The second, that is. Local legend says he stopped at this very pub, but I don't think that's right. That would have been seven hundred years ago."

"It's possible," Hermione said when Jilly stopped for breath. "There are some that are even older."

Draco made a soft noise, stopping her before she could go on about history. She wrinkled her nose at him and sucked noisily at her beer instead. Draco turned to Jilly. "I ran into a couple of young men today and-"

"God, Freeze and Pats? What did they do now?" Jilly folded her arms on the table and laid her cheek on them. "I told him that if he got into trouble again, Dad was going to kick him out and then he'd never be able to get anywhere. It's that Pats that really causes all the problems. Don't let him put you off Freeze. He's really a good sort. _Brilliant_ with cars. He can fix anything with an engine, honestly."

"Geoffrey is your brother, then?" Draco asked.

"He told you his full name?" Jilly stared, her mouth open, showing the fillings in her molars.

The shock had reduced her to one question, no rambling. Draco exchanged an amused look with Hermione. "He did," Draco said. "And he asked if he could see my car. It's vintage. He seemed very excited about the possibility. You said he's brilliant?"

"Oh, he is. He's amazing with cars. Loves 'em, can do anything. Sometimes I think all he has to do is _touch_ one and he can know what's wrong with it. I swear he wouldn't hurt your car at all, Mr Malfoy. If you're up for it, please let him have a look. I think he needs just a little push to really go for the advanced courses. Y'know, a little encouragement to get away from Pats and get started on the way to that shop he wants. Maybe if he can see a vintage car for himself, get some hands-on instead of just dreaming. Might be good for him."

Draco smiled. "That's a sterling recommendation. I told him that I'd leave a message at the hotel desk tomorrow. If you're working, could you take it for me?"

"I'll give it to him tonight!" Jilly beamed, her eyes bright behind her glasses. "Not working tomorrow, since I'm in rehearsals all day, but I'll get it to him, I promise. Here, here, write it down," she said. She dug a small, crumpled notebook out of her pocket.

Hermione passed a cheap, disposable pen across the table. "You mentioned rehearsals before, when we were checking in. I saw your recorder. Do you do historical music?"

"Yeah!" Jilly bounced in her seat. "The Holt and Heeth Medievalist Musicians. We actually cover all the way up through the sixteenth century, but the name was getting too long as it was. I only play the smaller recorders right now, but I'm working up to larger. There's a woman in Oxford who makes reproductions of authentic instruments and I'm saving to buy a _big_ one." She held both hands over her head to show the height she meant.

Draco passed the notebook back to her. He kept the pen, clicking the end of it absently. "You told us you believe in the ghost," he said.

Jilly didn't seem to notice the change in subject. "I knew it!" she cried, slapping one hand on the table with glee. "I knew you were here for that. Did you talk to Bets already?"

Hermione nodded. "Mrs Brimble, yes. We were hoping to talk with the pub landlord tonight but Eric there said he was gone."

"He won't be back for a few days. Off to London to see his mum." Jilly rocked in her seat, making the chair creak dangerously. "The full moon is next Wednesday and I'll be going out to try and catch a glimpse of her. You should come with me! Most of the tourist hunters are probably going to head for the old graveyard. Typical," she said as she shoved her glasses up her nose. "But I'm going out to Mill's Bridge. It's right on the edge of the village, maybe half a mile from your cottage."

Jilly spoke with confidence, enough that Hermione raised her brows at Draco. "What do you think? Worth a try?"

Draco finished off the last of the pretzels and settled back in his chair with his drink. "What harm could it do? Wouldn't mind seeing if we can find out the truth."

* * *

_A/N: Hope you guys liked it, remember to R&R._

_SillySlytherin_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Sorry for the wait I've been busy, the wedding is in almost a month! Wow how time flies, anyway I'm going to post two chapters since I have been bad with posting. Also BTF readers I am a little stuck on the end of the chapter unless you want me to post what I have so far and add the rest later? Let me know if you do._

_Disclaimer: I only own the plot._

* * *

Draco finished washing up after lunch and put the dishes into the plastic drainer by the small sink. "Granger," he called. "We'll need to stop by the market before we leave to get some more oil for the lamps. You read so late that we go through more than I thought." Hermione didn't respond and Draco leaned around the door frame. She wasn't in the sitting room.

Draco smiled to himself as he dried his hands on a towel embroidered with red and white poppies. She'd sneaked past him again. In the short time they'd been staying at the cottage, Hermione had developed an absolute passion for being out in the garden. She might be a bookish swot, as far as most people knew, but he knew there was a far different Hermione underneath. He'd met her again on this assignment. Still fond of her books and research and list-making, but if she could do that outdoors, she was thrilled. The holiday they'd taken to Paris had found them strolling along the river every evening and visiting a new park each day. Even in the cold, Hermione had glowed with pleasure.

He looked out the door to the garden and nodded with a grin when he saw her reading on the bench under the tree. On her back, with three pillows under her head to prop her up, she'd bent one leg up and rested the book against it. her other leg dangled off the bench, toes swinging through the grass. She looked so relaxed and peaceful that he didn't want to interrupt, but they'd made plans. Exploring the area and talking to the locals was more important to the case than letting her read.

"Granger," he said, crossing the garden. She was so involved in her reading that she didn't look up until his shadow fell over her book. Draco chuckled at her and held out a bookmark he'd taken from the table behind her. "Time to go. If we don't get there soon, it'll be closed."

Hermione shut her book and wriggled her feet into a pair of strappy leather sandals. "It doesn't close until eight, Malfoy. We'll have plenty of time."

"Then let's go before all the good parking spaces are gone. Althea said the paved area isn't very big. I don't want to leave my car in the grass." Draco put on his poshest accents, lifting his chin to look down his nose. "Don't make me park with the peasants. It's bad enough that I have no chauffeur."

Hermione smacked his arm with her book as she passed him. In the cottage, she stuffed the book in her bag and slung that over her shoulder as Draco checked his funds. He regularly exchanged his Ministry salary into Muggle money and had made certain he'd have plenty for this assignment, but he'd need to visit a cash point soon. Althea had told him that the merchants at the fair appreciated cash more than credit, often with discounts. He had no idea how much shopping they'd do but he knew it was a good possibility there would be plenty.

"Going to let me drive?" Hermione said, bouncing next to the car.

Draco snorted. "I've seen you drive," he said. "You don't recognize the concept of a speed limit. I'm not risking a run-in with the authorities."

She rolled her eyes at him and clambered into her seat as he started the car. "I'm not that bad."

Draco backed cautiously into the street after checking the directions Althea had given him. "You are that bad," he said, glancing at Hermione. "We hired a car in Paris, if you'll remember. And you, Hermione Granger, managed to terrify Parisian drivers. Parisian taxi drivers. They were lining the streets and praying for their lives as long as you were behind the wheel. I'm not going through that again."

Hermione made a face but settled back without further argument. The trip was short, though they had to wait once for a darkly-tanned man on an ancient tractor to clear the road. At the entrance gate of Tornhart Hall, a young woman in a jester's costume took their parking fee and gave them directions. They followed a gravel lane well into the estate, passing teenagers in fluorescent shirts who kept the traffic moving at a steady, if slow, pace. Near the front of the snaking line, when fluttering banners and striped tent tops were visible over a wooden palisade, Draco laughed as he spotted Pats in a furry tunic and boots. "What do you think, Granger?" he said. "Viking work for him?"

He slowed the car and Pats leaned down to the window. "Freeze said givya good spot. Th'car."

Even mumbled, it was more words at once than Draco had heard from Pats before and he had to blink for a moment. "Er. Thank you," he said when Hermione poked him in the side.

Pats grunted and pointed the opposite direction from most of the traffic. "That way," he said. Private parking. Freeze don't want th'car fucked."

"Yes," Draco said, brows raised. "That would be uncomfortable, wouldn't it?"

Pats stared at him blankly; Hermione stifled a snort behind her hands. Draco waved merrily to Pats and drove forward. They ended up in a secluded parking area shaded by several large trees. Draco parked at the far end, stretching when he got out of the car. Hermione looked around, determined they were unobserved for the moment, and gestured Draco to duck around the side of the car. "Sunblock charm," she said, flourishing her wand. Draco hid a shiver as the magic washed over him and the warmth of the sun on his skin lessened.

He and Hermione followed a set of low signs along a path to a ticket booth. They joined the queue behind of a group of people in a variety of costumes. There was a trio of women in the heavy gowns of sixteenth-century nobles, with their face powdered white; a couple of men dressed as privateers, bearing letters of marque thrust through the sashes across their chests; a half-dozen people, including a woman, wearing the tunics of knights on Crusade; and a short man wearing translucent green wings and a long ribbon skirt. Draco couldn't tell if they were all separate parties or friends who couldn't agree on one cohesive theme. They all seemed to be talking together as the queue edged forward.

"We're underdressed," he murmured to Hermione. "We may be the only people here who are actually dressed as Muggles. Should have brought my robes."

Hermione snickered. "Do you even have any these days?" she asked, smiling up at him. "I noticed a few years ago that you stopped wearing robes to the office. Switched to Muggle suits."

"Less suspicious in my situation," he said. "Walking through London in robes draws rather unsavory attention. And as it turns out, Saville Row can do magic." Hermione lifted her brows and Draco laughed. "Where did you expect me to get my clothes? Harrods? Please, Granger. I haven't fallen that far."

Hermione pulled a face. "Most people don't consider that 'fallen', you know."

"Most people didn't have a personal tailor from the moment they were out of nappies." Draco shrugged. "But don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm pulling your leg. I shop Muggle anymore. Fortnum and Mason is rather nice. I like their hampers."

The queue moved forward before Hermione could speak again. The pack of Crusaders shuffled out of the way with some argument over who had forgotten the voucher for a group rate. Draco took their place at the counter. "Two," he said.

The black teenager behind the counter adjusted her pointed green cap and pulled two plastic bracelets off a strip. "For thee and thine lady," she said.

"Thy."

Draco flicked a glance at Hermione as he paid the admission. "What?"

"Thy. 'Thy lady'. Thine is a form like mine or yours. Not my or your."

The ticket girl showed Draco how to fasten the bracelets on, apparently ignoring Hermione. She had a slightly bored look on her face, and Draco assumed she'd heard the correction many times before. Either it didn't sink in or she didn't care. If this was just a job for her, likely the latter.

Draco stepped away from the counter. He had to take Hermione by the elbow to lead her out of the queue, as she was still lecturing on proper language use. "Save your breath," he said, leading her through a tall arch into the fair proper. "Plenty of walking to do and I'm sure you'll see-"

He stopped as he spotted a booth selling puppets in the shapes of magical creatures. Dragons, unicorns, and fairies lined the booth. Draco made a face at the dragon puppet nearest to him. "Hell," he muttered. "Who let this travesty in here? A Hungarian Horntail with Chinese Fireball coloring? Don't these people know anything?"

Hermione laughed and tugged him away from the booth. "They know it's make-believe," she said pointedly. "Now come on. Save your breath. Plenty of walking to do."

Hermione sucked the last drops of briny pickle juice off her fingers, grinning at the face Draco made. "It's delicious," she said. "You should have had one. I'm sure we can find that pickle seller again. She couldn't move very fast with that barrel."

He gave a delicate shudder and wrinkled up his nose. "I don't eat things on sticks. Or things cooked outside."

Hermione snorted. "That explains why you haven't had anything but a soft pretzel. You know it's not going to kill you to have something to eat here, right? I think the owners of the estate would have made certain no one would die on their property."

"I had a frozen ... thing. Lemony. While you were waiting for the loo. You were gone long enough that I thought about going back for a second."

"Ugh, I know. The costumes are beautiful, but I'm glad I don't have to wrestle in and out of them. I had to wait behind two women with the biggest skirts I've ever seen. Could have fit Madame Maxime and a twin sister in there." Hermione dropped her empty pickle stick into a rubbish bin. The curving path that twined through the fair led past a variety of shops. Tents, booths, and stalls sold everything from leather book covers to blown-glass sculptures. Crossroads and offshoots of the path led to shaded benches or small stages for one or two performers. As they walked, they passed a stage with a woman who was painted in swirls of blue and green from her long braided hair to the gauze wings poking through her dress to the satin pointe slippers on her feet. Hermione watched a child run up to drop a coin in the basket by the stage. The woman rose up on her toes and did a pirouette, then posed with her arms outstretched as she sang a verse of something in a language Hermione didn't recognize.

She and Draco were supposed to be listening for any hints that could help with their assignment, under the thinking that a fair like this might attract a higher percentage of people who believed in ghosts, but that plan had fallen by the wayside early on. There had been too much to see and do. It was a small fair, it was wildly inaccurate, and it was ridiculously expensive to get anything to eat or drink, but Hermione didn't care. She'd been having fun, loads of fun, and even Draco had been smiling for most of the afternoon. Their assignment could wait one more day. Hermione didn't want to ruin what they had right then.

They made their way to a large stage set back in a grove of trees. The wooden sign in front of an arc of benches said they had ten minutes until Jilly's medieval group was to perform. Hermione started to pick a seat near the center of the benches for the best view, but realized Draco had gone on without her. He was around the side, at a bench that had a huge oak tree behind it. She followed him and gestured at the tree as she sat beside him. "Sunblock charm not working?" she asked quietly.

"It's fine." Draco rolled his shoulders and glanced up into the leaves overhead. "I don't like to sit where people can get behind me, especially in a crowd. And twice as much around Muggles."

Hermione hummed under her breath. She thought about it and realized she hadn't once seen Draco sit with his back exposed, not in a very long time. Even at the Ministry, in the time they'd worked together, she'd never seen him take a chair that wasn't against a wall. If he couldn't sit in a protected spot, he stood so he could move around. She supposed she couldn't blame him entirely. She understood what it was like to live a nervous life, and he had more reason than most. Being around Muggles had to make him uncomfortable.

"Speaking of Muggles. I wanted to say," she murmured, waving her hand to indicate the people around them, "that I think you're doing well. Better than I would have expected. Not just at this fair, either. The whole trip. Ever since we got to Faith-In-Hart, you've been doing really well around them. I thought you'd have cracked long before this. But it's as if you've been around them your entire life."

Draco leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. "I had to learn," he said. "I've lived in that world for fifteen years. The first few were rough. Having to make all those adjustments. Can't even tell you how many times I forgot to wait for the signal to cross the street or nearly had a heart attack when a phone rang. I still get anxious when someone has their telly up too loud, and I have to avoid electronics shops completely. But I eventually got used to it. Exposure therapy or some rubbish like that."

"So you're saying the infamous Draco Malfoy has decided Muggles aren't so bad?" she said with a tiny laugh. She was going to have to drop this moment into a Pensieve for Harry to view when they got back to London.

Draco shook his head. "Muggles aren't so bad," he said. "Most of them. Didn't care for those fellows who tried to rob me a few years ago but-"

"Wait, wait." Hermione turned to face him, one hand on his arm. "You got mugged? What did you do? You aren't allowed to Apparate. You didn't get in a fight, did you?"

Draco opened one eye and looked at her. After a long silence, his lips curled in a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "I ran, Granger. Traditional Malfoy tactic. Hauled arse and got the hell out. All they wanted was the money. Fortunately, I was carrying a great deal of it. I think their victory dance distracted them from chasing me."

Hermione knotted her brows at the flippant tone in Draco's voice, but she let it be. "I'm glad you were all right," she said.

"It was a long time ago. I don't go near that pub any more, though, just to be safe."

Hermione made a face. She leaned back against the tree with him, close enough that their shoulders touched. People filed in to fill up the benches, bright costumes shining in the sunlight. She spotted a few people she recognized, residents of Faith-In-Hart, and lifted a hand in greeting when she got a wave from the clerk from the stationery shop. "If that was the worst of it," she said, "getting mugged once, just one bad run-in with Muggles in fifteen years? You're doing more than well. I'm serious, Draco," she said when he made a dismissive noise. "I don't think anyone would have believed you'd make it so long in Muggle areas. I know I didn't, not at first, but you... You really..."

She looked at him, smiling. "I'm really proud of you."

Draco stirred. He opened his eyes and met her gaze. He looked as if he didn't believe what she'd just said, as if it was something he'd never heard anyone say to him before. She thought about his father, about the harsh, stern parenting of Lucius Malfoy, and realized it was entirely possible that Draco never had heard that in his life. She touched his arm and let her smile widen. "I am. I'm proud of you."

Draco turned his head away, shrugging one shoulder. "Like I said," he murmured. "I had to learn. Survival, you know."

Hermione watched as the musicians took the stage. Jilly waved at them with her recorder before taking her seat next to a man with a lute. The other musicians had a hurdy-gurdy, a tambourine, a hammered dulcimer, and a pair of small harps. One of the harpists stood at the front of the stage to introduce the group and explain their performance. Hermione tried to concentrate on the speech, but her mind was turning over what Draco had said.

Survival. He thought about his life as survival. "Was that all it was?" she asked quietly. She barely heard her own voice over the rising music and the roar of people at another stage out of view. "Was everything about survival?"

He didn't respond for long enough that she thought he might not have heard her, then he coughed. "No," he said. "Not all of it. At the beginning, yes, but after a while..." He shifted restlessly beside her and his voice dropped to a low rumble that made her heart pound faster. "Not that long ago, I found a reason to be happy."

Hermione looked sidelong at him. It was meant to be a quick glance, only a flick of her eyes to see his expression, but he was watching her. His gaze locked on hers and she couldn't look away. She didn't ask what he'd meant. She didn't have to; it was clear in his eyes. "You were happy," she whispered.

"I was." Draco's face softened. His eyes went dark and the point of his tongue drew across his bottom lip. His hand twitched, as if he'd stopped himself from reaching for her. After a moment, he took a deep breath and slowly turned away. "Happiest time of my life."

Hermione pressed her lips together and swallowed. She didn't know what to say to Draco. There was too much to say. She'd been happy, too. Unbelievably happy, more than she ever could have thought. Forcing herself not to think about him after their breakup had been one of the hardest things she'd had to do in her life.

She looked at the stage in efforts to turn her thoughts away from what had been. The music had changed. It was no longer a rollicking, almost dance-like beat. Now it was something slow and melancholy. The harpists began to sing a duet, a call and response that seemed to ache. The song spoke of love and sorrow and two people separated. A human woman and a fairy king, brought together and torn apart. The last verse was of the sea that took them both as they threw themselves into it for the sake of their love.

Hermione surreptitiously wiped a tear off her cheek as Jilly's recorder gave a low, mournful whistle. In the sweep of emotion, she thought, maybe. Maybe there was something she could say. She turned to Draco, her breath heavy in her lungs. "Draco, do you ever think-"

He wasn't there. The bench beside her was empty.

She spun around, spotting him at the back of the audience. He was leaning on one of the walls of the booth next to the path leading from the stage, his head bowed. As she watched, she saw him trace a shape on his left arm. Even at that distance, she could tell it was the sinuous outline of his Dark Mark. He dropped his hand and thumped his head on the wall behind him. His lips moved; she thought he was swearing.

Biting her lip, she turned back to the stage to allow him privacy. They both needed it at that moment. She let the sound of the music wash over her and push away her thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione hunched into her coat, grateful for the warming charms she'd put on it before she and Draco left the cottage to meet Jilly. She'd offered to do the same for him, but he'd waved her off, reminding her that Slytherins lived in the dungeons under the lake. Cold wasn't a problem for him.

It was for her. She blew on her fingers, chilled even through her leather gloves. Wrapping her arms around herself to tuck her hands under her biceps, she glared at Draco where he leaned against a low, rough stone wall. He looked perfectly at ease, almost comfortable. Black clothes and pale skin made him a study in contrasts, like the heavy moon against the sky. Even his hair was the color of the light that danced across the field they were watching.

Hermione made a face at herself and turned away before she could be tempted to burrow under his arm and pull his coat around her. There had been so many times when they'd curled up together, huddled under her blanket or wrapped in his cloak. She hadn't realized until then how much she'd missed the little, comforting things like that.

With a huff, she forced her thoughts away from what had been and concentrated on the job at hand. They were on assignment, on a case. She didn't need to think about anything but that.

Jilly, standing at the end of the bridge in a long patchwork cloak, lifted binoculars and peered across the field. After a minute, she slumped. Hermione shook her head, trying not to smile. Besides proving the merits of this case to Supervisor Elkins and making this trip less of a punishment for Draco, she wanted the ghost to be real for Jilly. The young woman had such enthusiasm that Hermione hoped, for her sake, that they found the ghost.

For more than an hour, the three of them did nothing but watch the field in silence. Every so often, Jilly peered through her binoculars. When it neared midnight, Jilly came over to stand by Hermione. "I have to go," she whispered, disappointment clear in her soft voice. "Have to get up early. No ghost for me tonight." She kicked at a loose rock and sighed. "Maybe next month. I'll see you two around."

Jilly left with a wave. Hermione made her way over to stand next to Draco. The wind was beginning to pick up and she unashamedly used his body to block the chill. For a moment, she wondered what she was doing. It wasn't the best idea, with her thoughts still in a muddle after the conversation they'd had at the festival - barely had, most of it interrupted by their own, separate thoughts - but right then she was too cold to care.

Draco looked at her, then gave a slow, almost tentative grin. "I know what you're doing," he said.

"Hush and turn so you're blocking more of it," she told him. He obeyed with a quiet laugh and Hermione jammed her hands deeper in her coat pockets. "Should have had an entire pot of tea before we left," she said. "Or brought a thermos with us. I could use something warm. I might spend the rest of the night in a hot bath."

Draco made a noise and shifted beside her, pulling his coat closed. "Don't put that image in my head. I'd like to sleep well tonight."

Hermione looked away, her cheeks warming. She knew what he was thinking. The trip to Paris, the huge bathtub, the mountain of bubbles. A bottle of wine and a hundred rose petals on the bed that stuck to their damp skin. They'd made love for hours, resting between rounds with their limbs tangled together.

The wind howled, pulling her out of memory, cutting sharp across her ears. She shivered. "There's nothing here," she said. "I'm going-"

Draco held up one hand. "Hush."

"Malfoy, it's cold."

"I said quiet, Granger." He tipped his head, turning his ear to the wind. "I thought I heard something."

Hermione thought it was likely an echo coming from the village, but she held still to listen. For several seconds, all she could hear was the cry of the wind, then a new sound threaded in. It was high and low at once; it was both a rumble and shriek. The hair on her arms rose and she stepped closer to Draco. Their arms touched.

He didn't pull away. In the moonlight, she could see that he'd closed his eyes. His face was tight, as blank as polished steel. "I hear her," he whispered, his lips barely moving. He clutched at the wall as if he needed to hold himself upright.

Hermione strained to catch what he was hearing. Draco's tension beside her was more unnerving than the odd sound in the wind. Before she could stop herself, she laid her hand atop his. Draco startled. His hand jerked and twitched under hers, then he turned it over and laced their fingers together. Hermione edged closer, pressing against him. The sound in the wind shifted and grew closer. Hermione swore she could hear words forming in the howl.

"Save," it seemed to whisper in a woman's cracked and broken voice. "Save... Save us. Please."

Draco choked and shuddered. He yanked free of her, staggering back. Hermione whirled to look at him. His face was white and bloodless. Even the grey seemed to have drained from his eyes.

She reached for him. "Draco?"

She didn't have the chance to touch him. Draco spun and fled, running from the bridge, leaving her with the cry of the wind and the eerie, whispering sound.

Hermione stood her ground, chin up and shoulders straight. Draco's sudden flight had her worried, and a little frightened, but she'd seen so much in her life that a simple noise wasn't going to scare her away. She stood, watching the field despite the chill crawling over her skin and the fear tugging at her spine. She'd been brutally tortured; she'd fought Voldemort. A whisper in the wind wouldn't chase her off.

The wind died and everything fell silent. The only sounds were her breathing and her pounding heart. She exhaled, and in the next moment, she heard a howl in the distance, a violent howl that made her jump.

Hermione glanced out at the field, trembling, then rushed from the bridge. She jogged back to the cottage, her fingers tight around her wand in her pocket. There was no sign of Draco in the cottage until she got upstairs. A thin, pale hint of light shone under his door. Hermione let herself slump against the wall in relief. She'd thought he might have left entirely, run into the darkness and abandoned her alone in Faith-In-Hart.

She raised her hand to knock, then the image of his face floated into her mind. The sheer terror that had been in his eyes left her shivering. She dropped her hand and went into her room. As she closed the door, she thought she heard the voice behind her, pleading with her. "Save us. Please."


End file.
